Work Text:
Jim Brass went into the viewing room next to interrogation. He stood next to Greg Sanders. He looked at the middle aged man sitting placidly, with his hands folded in front of him, at the table. The man was pale with light blue eyes and thin slicked back gray hair. The man’s fingers were stained by nicotine.
Jim glanced at Greg and saw that Greg was tense, glaring at the man. “Greg?”
Greg shuddered. “That guy gives me the creeps, Jim.” He turned to face Jim. “Definitely a creeper.”
Jim shrugged. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go in with me.”
Greg nodded emphatically. “Good. I’ll just watch.”
Jim allowed himself a small smile and patted Greg’s shoulder. He went to join their newest guest. He opened the door and stepped inside. “Mr. Norman Bates. You don’t own a motel, do you?”
Bates grinned, showing off a row of yellow teeth. “Captain Brass. No. My mother loved Alfred Hitchcock.”
Jim sat across from Bates. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a provert,” Bates answered as if that was the most natural thing in the world.
“What’s that?”
Bates’ tone of voice didn’t change. “A professional pervert.”
Jim glanced at the mirrored wall and could imagine Greg cringe. He turned his attention back to Bates. “Is there good money in that?” he asked, deadpan.
Bates just grinned in response.
A few hours later, Jim got off work. As soon as he got out to the parking lot, he pulled out his cell phone and hit the first number on his speed dial. He leaned against his car and listened to it ring.
“Hey, Jimmy,” Eric Delko’s voice greeted cheerfully.
Jim smiled. “Eric.”
“I was just packing my bag for this weekend,” Eric said excitedly. “You’re still going to pick me up, right?”
“I’ll be there.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” Jim answered casually. “Have you ever heard of a provert?”